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CflPyRlGHT DEPOSIT. 



Pioneer and Other Poems 



By 

Wellman L. Wolcott 



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Columbus 

The Fornshell Printing Company 

1912 






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Copyright. 1912 

By Wellman L. Wolcott 

All rights reserved 



©CI.A330497 



^ 



TO A FRIEND. 

On yon majestic mountain peak, the rising sun 

First sheds a flood of his effulgent light, 
And illumes its lofty brow until the day is done. 

Still loath to bid his favorite good-night. 
When in the magic presence of some lofty mind, 

I, too, would linger long just like the sun. 
For those grand souls, above the level of mankind, 

Stand out like mountain peaks, — and yours is one ! 




Pithout excuse or apology, but merely a word of 
explanation, this little waif is launched upon 
that literary sea where many a frail craft has 
been wrecked on account of its unseaworthiness, or 
submerged by adverse criticism. 

Several years ago, Colonel William A. Taylor paid 
the writer a high compliment by requesting the privi- 
lege of incorporating one of his poems in a comprehen- 
sive history of Ohio, which the Colonel was writing at 
that time. He also claimed that, as the poem was a 
tribute to the Pioneers of Ohio, it should be placed 
among the permanent archives of the state. On ac- 
count of the Colonel's death, however, the history was 
never completed. Therefore, through respect for his 
memory, and, also, in order to show his appreciation of 
the many favorable comments, and kind words of en- 
couragement of numerous friends, the author has finally 
yielded to their solicitation to publish this little 
volume. 

He cares not for the strictures emanating from self- 
appointed critics, who, at the expense of others, seek 
to impress the public with their own (imaginary) 
genius ; while, on the other hand, he is aware of the fact 
that one's friends are ofttimes apt to "temper justice 
with mercy" to a greater extent than the facts justify, 
and, in consequence, render a more favorable verdict 
than could be expected from a disinterested public. 
However, if he has succeeded in approaching any- 

[Page Hvel 



where near the standard set for him by those friends, 
and if the reading of these lines afforded them as 
much pleasure as the writing of them has the author, 
then this little volume will have succeeded in accom- 
plishing the purpose for which it was intended by 

THE AUTHOR. 



[Page six] 



CONTENTS. 

Page 
Morning -------------- " 

Tribute to An Old Pioneer --------- 10 

Pat's Retreat - ------------ 12 

America's Appeal ------------ 1j 

Ohio --------------- 16 

The Home of My Childhood, Ohio ------- 20 

The Old Pioneer ------------ 21 

O, That Parody! ------------ 24 

The Poet and His Moods --------- 26 

Paul Lawrence Dunbar ----------28 

Sunbeam --------------29 

In Reply to Mrs. Browning's "How I Love Thee" - - - 31 
Abram Konaos or The Hero of the Potter's Field - - - 2,2 
The Rock of Ages - - - ------ 36 

Friendship ------------- o/ 

Have You Thought? ----------- 38 

Peruna --------------40 

I've Been Retrospectin', Mandy --------43 

Our Fathers -------------50 

"If A Body Meet a Body" --------- 51 

"Home, Sweet Home," on the Rappahannock - - - - 52 

The Belle of Long Ago ---------- 55 

Sonnet to Cleveland, Ohio ---------58 

Lines on Reading "Joyous June in New York" - - - - 59 

Athens -------------- 61 

The Passing of the "Hello Girl" -------- 65 

Take the Flags ------------ 68 

Human Vultures ------------69 

The Queen of Frenzied Finance -------- 7\ 

Civic Ungodliness ----------- 7A 

Lines on Reading Mrs. Clark's "Winter Lingers in the 

Lap of Spring" _.---80 

We're Comin', Father Abraham --------81 

The Auto Girl ------------ 84 

Dean Bond -------------86 

Tom and Jerry ------------89 

The Auto Scorcher ----------- 94 

Turnin' Pictures to the Wall -------- 96 

'Taint Tainted Any Longer ---------99 

Skippers — A Romance ---------- 102 



MORNING. 

As the shadows fade away 

And the golden sunbeams play 

'Mong the bright and shimmering dew-drops at the 

dawning of the day ; 
And a flood of orient light 
Dissipates the gloom of night, 
Then the grandeur of the moment thrills the soul with 

fond delight. 

Then each feathered songster wings 

Through the azure blue, and sings 

Till the air, with vibrant echoes of the merry chorus, 

rings 
With a tribute to the morn, 
And each slumberer is warned 
That his Majesty has risen, and another day is born. 

When the Monarch of the day 
Starts upon his heavenly way, 
With his bright and radiant splendor gleaming from 

each dazzling ray ; 
Nature then, with charming grace, 
Greets him with a smiling face, 
Flushed and crimsoned by the ardor of his rapturous 

embrace. 

[Page nine] 



While, with gladness, we behold 

All her lovely charms unfold, 

As her rare and matchless beauty sparkles 'neath a 

sheen of gold. 
And, forgetting every care. 
We, with gracious Nature, share 
In the blessings fair Aurora sheds about us everywhere. 



TRIBUTE TO AN OLD PIONEER. 

On yonder cliff, the Armstrong villa stands, 
And casts it's shadow o'er the near-by glen, 

Where dwells the owner of surrounding lands, 
A man revered by all his fellow-men. 

A king is he, of nature's fair domain, 

Crowned by her hand, and also by her blest ; 

At yon fair villa he delights to reign. 

The place of all the earth he loves the best. 

There he has lived for more than eighty years, 
Where first his eyes beheld the light of day. 

And where in turn, they oft shed bitter tears 

For those — his loved ones — who have passed away. 

There, with his only daughter good and kind. 
He lives "The Simple Life" of glad content, 

With naught to worry or perplex the mind. 
While rounding out the life thus nobly spent. 

[Page ten] 



How well he loves that splendid rural home, 

Where every act, and thought with nature blends ; 

He seldom does — nor ever cares to roam, 
But is content there always with his friends. 

In selfish strife, he never has engaged. 

Nor sought the conquest of his fellow-man, 

For all the battles that he ever waged. 

Have all been fought upon a peaceful plan. 

But life's fierce battle he has fought and won. 
He never yielded — never knew defeat ; 

And never halted, till the work was done, 

That made his triumph sure and quite complete. 

The sturdy oak bowed humbly to his will ; 

The forest yielded to his honest toil ; 
The virgin soil he loves so well to till. 

Has rendered up to him, her richest spoil. 

And now in honored age he is endowed. 
With peace and plenty, all that he desired ; 

For those false baubles of the rich and proud. 
Are things to which he never has aspired. 

Nor has he sought vain glory, pomp, or power — 
All useless toys, for which he did not care. 

Nor craved to be "the lion of the hour," 
Nor was he caught in fame's delusive snare ; 

[Page eleven] 



Yet, stately monarch ne'er felt greater pride, 
For victories won on bloody fields of strife, 

Than does this Hero of the Hamlet Side, 
For those achieved in honest, peaceful life. 



PAT'S RETREAT. 

With deafening shout, that fatal day. 

They rushed pell-mell into the fray, 

Where many a hero fighting fell — 

Where war, as Sherman said, was — well 

They charged the foe who bravely stand 

And struggle with them hand to hand 

And, rooted firmly as a rock. 

With dauntless courage, brave the shock 

Of battle as it rages round, 

Till distant hills and vales resound 

With deaf 'ning echoes of the crash. 

As cannon roar and sabers clash, 

Until the field is drenched with blood — 

The living scattered by the flood 

Of carnage as it ebbs and flows 

Alike engulfing friends and foes. 

Now Pat, alone, with might and main, 
Like brave Achilles sweeps the plain, 
His comrades scattered — some have fled, 
While some are wounded, others dead ; 

[Page twelve] 



While he, with each Titanic thrust, 

Is stretching foemen in the dust. 

And earning meeds of praise and glory — 

But hark ! he halts and shouts "begorry, 

And here is Mike! Why are ye here?" 

Mike answers : '"Take me to the rear." 

Stretched out full length upon the ground 
With battle wreckage scattered round — 
With dead and dying everywhere, 
Pat found his comrade lying there. 
He said to him : "Why to the rear 
When we are sorely needed here? 
You may retrate but I shall stay 
And help our brave bies win the day." 
"Oh Pat, don't lave me to me fate. 
Me leg's shot off, I can't retrate !" 

Thus pleaded Mike : then, with a bound, 
Pat reached his side and, from the ground, 
He raised and, o'er his shoulder flung 
His wounded comrade, where he hung 
While, swiftly, like a startled deer. 
Our hero bounded toward the rear. 
And through a storm of leaden hail 
He bore his burden o'er the trail 
That war had blazed. But as he fled 
A cannon-ball tore off Mike's head. 



[Page thirteen] 



Still on Pat speeds unmindful, quite, 

Of what had happened in his flight. 

Until an ofificer appears. 

And with his sprinting interferes, 

By halting him, and asking why 

He's moving toward the rear so spry. 

"It's to a place of safety that 

I'm after carrying Mike," said Pat. 

"His head's shot off," the captain said, 
"Why all this haste since he is dead?" 
Then, like a flash, Pat whirled around 
And flinging Mike upon the ground, 
Gazed mutely at him in surprise 
With anger flashing from his eyes. 
Then with an air of injured pride 
He said : "Your honor, Michael lied. 
Sure his head's shot off, sir, but indade 
The schpalpeen told me 'twas his leg." 



[Page fourteen] 



AMERICA'S APPEAL. 

(Written in behalf of Mrs. Angelina Napolitano, the Canadian woman, who 
killed her husband for trying to force her into a life of shame.) 

The world into a great tribunal has 

Resolved itself, and, sitting in review, 

Has weighed the evidence impartially, 

And. in a spirit of humanity, 

Condones the act of that poor friendless one 

Whose doom is fixed, and by the law's decree 

Must suffer death. But hark ! From every land 

And home, that honors virtuous womanhood, 

The verdict thunders forth. A thousand times 

Ten thousand voices shout : "For shame ! For shame !" 

While myriad sisters plead on bended knees, 

And supplicate the throne of grace to stay 

This martyrdom in virtue's holy cause. 

The blow that laid a monster low was struck 
In self-defense ! An anguished mother struck 
To shield her young ! A woman, frenzied by 
A perjured wretch, who solemnly had sworn 
To cherish and protect, was forced to strike 
And save a virtuous woman's sceptre of 
Sovereignty from wanton sacrilege 
And loathsome barter. And now, with one accord. 
The great and good — the poor and lowly ones 
Of earth all earnestly believe, that while 

[Page Sfteenl 



The majesty of law must be upheld — 
The bulwarks of society preserved, 
Yet Justice should not be perverted thus, 
Nor Mercy thrust aside by arrogance. 

O, Canada! Just Canada! Our friend 
And honored neighbor of the North, aye, more 
Than friend, our kindred of a common race. 
Bound by ancestral ties and lineage, 
To thee America, In Mercy's name. 
Respectfully appeals for clemency. 



OHIO. 

Among "Old Glory's" radiant stars 
Which, in their luster gleam afar. 
And dazzle with their heaven-born light. 

There beams a bright effulgent star. 
And by its rare transcendent light 
That pierces through the gloom of night, 
We search the glorious page of fame 
And find inscribed the magic name — 
OHIO. 

The Goddess of sweet liberty 

Who chose Columbia as her home. 

Unfurled her standard to the breeze 
From freedom's bright and lofty dome. 



[Page sixteen] 



And early on the following morn 
The Child of Destiny was born, 
And then her eye with rapture lit, 
And she beheld them christen it, 
OHIO. 

The Child has grown in strength and power 

Until her grandeur and renown 
Have won for her a nobler meed 

Then scepter, throne, or queenly crown ; 
While countless millions far and near 
Have marveled at her grand career, 
And, warmed by her celestial fire, 
Have learned to honor, and admire 
OHIO. 

The imperial diadem of state 

That rests upon her regal brow, 
Is equaled by her natural charms 

Before which all beholders bow ; 
For, when the kind and gracious Fates 
Sought, from among our sovereign states, 
To favor one with faultless pose. 
Without dissenting voice, they chose 
OHIO. 

And now with rapture, we behold 

A stately Matron, young and fair, 
Whose children are the nation's pride, 

Revered and honored everywhere ; 

[Page seventeen] 



Her valiant sons on land and sea 
Have borne the banner of the free, 
And stood, where only heroes stand, 
And fought for country, freedom and 
OHIO. 

And when her sisters of the South 

From virtue's path had blindly strolled. 

The sorrowing nation sought in vain 
To bring them back into the fold ; 

The eagle's wings dropped in despair 

Until at last he rose in air 

With hope renewed, and heavenward soared 

And then in triumph beckoned toward 
OHIO. 

Then glancing o'er her fair domain, 

The Nation sought and quickly chose 
Her chieftains from Ohio's sons. 

Who vanquished all her deadly foes ; 
And, as the smoke of battle clears, 
And strife and hatred disappears. 
With joy, we see each sister state 
Strive with her might, to emulate 
OHIO. 

Not only on the field of strife. 

But every place, where duty claims 

The service of a master hand. 

Her sons have won illustrious names, 

[Page eighteen] 



And fixed them high on honor's roll, 
And all who pause to read the scroll, 
Extol their deeds in peace and war 
While winning fame and glory for 
OHIO. 

Blest mother of a mighty race, 

Nor intervening years, nor space. 
Nor joy, nor sorrow can efface 

The memory of thee and thine! 
If, on some dark and distant day, 
Thy majesty shall pass away — 
Thy grandeur crumble to decay, 

And all thy might and power decline, 
Thy glory, like a beacon light 
That warns the mariner at night. 
Will guide the wanderer aright. 

And lead him to a sacred shrine ! 
Inspired by dreams of other days, 
He'll read the names of Grant and Hayes, 
McKinley, Garfield, and the rest. 
Engraved beneath the name of blest 
OHIO. 



[Page nineteen] 



THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD, OHIO. 

There's a sweetheart of my childhood 

That I long to see once more, 
And I'm going back to see her 

Ere my wandering is o'er, 
For the flame of love she kindled 

Early in my youthful breast, 
Will remain forever burning 

'Till I'm laid away to rest. 

Chorus. 

I'm going back to meet her, 
For I long for nothing sweeter 
Than to meet her, and to greet her 

As in those happy childhood days of long ago ; 
Ohio ! Ohio ! 'tis thee 
I'm wishing and longing to see, 
For there's no other place in this wide world for me, 

Like the home of my childhood, Ohio ! 

Through her fairy dells I've wandered — 

Waded in her crystal brooks ; 
With the fond delight of childhood 

I have sought her shady nooks, 
O'er her wooded slopes I've rambled. 

Searching for the flowers of May, 
And I've sported in her meadows. 

Scented by the new mown hay. 

[Page twenty] 



Sweet the memory of those moments 

When the world to me was new, 
Fair and beautiful as Eden, 

Everybody just and true, 
And when wearied by the labor 

Of the strife for wealth and fame, 
I am longing for those moments 

Of my childhood days again. 



THE OLD PIONEER. 

(As read at the annual reunion of the Franklin County Pioneer Association 
at Westerville, August 13, 1908.) 

Who is it in every great contest in life. 

Marching on in advance, bears the brunt of the strife, 

With the stride of a hero, undaunted and brave, 

Who never has quailed like a coward or slave, 

Who never retreats till the battle is won, 

But works with a will till the work is all done, 

And sweeps all before him, and leaves the track clear 

For those who come after? 'Tis the Old Pioneer! 

Who was it that came from his home in the East, 
And braved every peril of savage and beast, 
As he trailed through the wilderness long weary miles, 
And planting our flag in the far western wilds. 
Established an Empire, great, glorious and free. 
That insures every comfort for you and for me? 
Around his rude hut on the lonely frontier, 
That Empire was rearer by the Old Pioneer. 

[Page twenty-one] 



Who cleared up the forest and then tilled the farm, 
And toughened his sinews, and strengthen his arm, 
And joined in each conflict, and led in the fight, 
In battling for country, for honor and right ? 
Who was it whose industry, courage and brains. 
Had conquered our mountains, our valleys and plains 
And caused them to blossom before we were here? 
I think you'll admit 'twas the Old Pioneer ! 

Whenever in office he's honest and just, 
He's true to his country, and true to his trust. 
He's not in the habit, by cunning and craft. 
Of filling his pockets with boodle and graft, 
But you always will find him obeying the laws, 
And contenting himself with the stipend he draws. 
His conscience is clear — he has nothing to fear, 
This noble old veteran — this Old Pioneer ! 

His mind is not filled with remorse nor regret ; 
He never has smoked the accursed cigaret. 
Nor posed as a masher, nor practiced his wiles, 
And disgusted good people with soft silly smiles ; 
Throughout his long life, he has made it a rule 
To live like a man and not act like a fool ; 
And if you want to know, of all men who's the peer, 
I'll tell you right now, he's the Old Pioneer ! 



[Page twenty-two] 



He never has cared about style or great wealth, 

But was thankful for plenty, for comfort and health. 

In the middle, he never has parted his hair, 

Nor bothered his brains about what he should wear, 

But whatever he wears, if it's not extra slick. 

You can bet your last cent, 'twas not purchased on tick, 

And his clothes whether cheap ones or whether 

they're dear, 
Have been paid for in cash, by the Old Pioneer. 

Be patient a moment for I want to show 

A woman whose cake is never all dough. 

Whose bread never burns, and whose biscuits will rise 

And who knows what to do when she wants to 

make pies. 
Who can manage the dairy and make decent butter, 
And do all the work while the young women splutter, 
Who ne'er powders nor paints, drinks champagne 

nor beer — 
I think you have guessed, it's the Old Pioneer. 

She's up in the morning ahead of the sun, 
And as soon as she's up, her day's work is begun ; 
She does not indorse the "new woman" ideas. 
Nor spend all her time in attending pink teas ; 
She's modest in dress, and she thinks it cjuite wrong 
To wear bathing skirts less than twelve inches long ; 
She's a woman of honor and holds virtue dear. 
She's the pride of our nation, this Old Pioneer! 

[Page twenty-three] 



When rebellion arose like a huge tidal wave 
And swept o'er the land, she also was brave ; 
She said to her husband — she said to her sons : 
"Go fight for your country — go shoulder your guns, 
And join in the conflict, let this be your cry, 
I'll save our blest Union, I'll conquer or die." 
She was willing to sacrifice all that's most dear — 
This noblest of matrons — this Old Pioneer. 

She watched o'er her children, from the day of their 

birth. 
And made of our homes the best homes upon earth ; 
She's wonderful proud, like Cornelia of Rome, 
Of her most precious jewels — her children and home. 
She has reared noble sons and fine daughters as well, 
But I have a secret I now wish to tell 
To the younger ones present, who chance to be here. 
We owe a great debt to the Old Pioneer. 



O, THAT PARODY! 

One evening last week while the paper perusing, 
I happened to notice some lines that were queer ; 

I said to my wife — here is something amusing. 
Just listen a moment — I'll read it, my dear; 

It seems that a talented Westerville poet, 

A genius unknown and undreamed of before, 

[Page twenty-lour] 



Quite lately decided to let the world know it 
By kicking the bucket with a mighty uproar — 

A tumultous uproar about an old strap — 

His father's old strap, that hangs by the door. 

He claims from that strap he has gained all his knowledge, 

His wisdom, his manhood, and such things as those; 
'Twas neither from books, from a tutor nor college, 

But from that old strap his great genius arose, 
And often when young with his father's assistance ; 

He rose with his genius some two feet or more, 
Whenever the old gent, with dogged persistence. 

Was wielding that old strap that hangs by the door. 
That uplifting old strap, that swish-swashing old strap — 

His father's old strap, that hangs by the door. 

He wrote a great parody — yes, it was great, and 

The like of it neer was heard of nor seen; 
He called it "The Old Oaken Bucket to Date," and 

It told of that wonderful spanking machine ; 
And when I had read it, she said, "What a pity 

The strap wasn't used by his father much more ; 
The old oaken bucket — that time-honored ditty — 

Might then have escaped that terrific uproar — 
That tumultous uproar about the old strap. 

His father's old strap that hangs by the door." 



[Page twenty-Hve] 



THE POET AND HIS MOODS. 

Far up the mountain side he often chmbs, 

There, from afar, to view the landscape o'er. 
And gather inspiration for his rhymes. 

So that, in song, he may his soul outpour. 
There, with a poet's thirst for nature's charms. 

He feasts his eyes from early morn till eve. 
And ceases not until, in Morpheus' arms. 

He finds, at last, a respite or reprieve 
From joys that glad the heart, or woes that make us grieve. 

Great is his joy whenever joy he feels, 

'Tis then his spirit steals away from earth, — 
The heavenly Muse, to him, the page reveals 

On which she keeps a record of the birth 
Of every soul-inspiring thought or theme 

That elevates the mind, or fills the heart 
With gratitude, and makes creation seem 

A paradise, reserved and set apart. 
Wherein the gods abide, and exercise their art. 

On such occasions he is most sublime. 

Oblivious, quite, to all but happiness ; 
As, in a trance, he takes no note of time, 

But grasps the present with a fond caress. 



[Page twenty-six] 



^ 



His thoughts go soaring to the reahns above — 

His soul aflame with its poetic fire, 
And, animated by fraternal love. 

He cherishes, meanwhile, a great desire 
To benefit mankind, and all with love inspire. 

But mark the change when, from that blissful dream, 

He wakes to find that he is mortal still, 
And sees things as they are, not as they seem 

Beneath a dreamer's gaze, and magic skill 
To metamorphose and completely change 

All things within imagination's grasp. 
Or that perchance may come within the range 

Of his keen vision, and which he has clasped 
Within his fond embrace till stung as by an asp. 

'Tis now the flood-gates of despair swing wide, 

His pent-up fury like a demon's rage, 
Goes floating forth upon the seething tide 

Of bitter grief that nothing can assuage. 
The raging hurricane when at its height, — 

The tempest's blast, the thunderbolt's hoarse blare, 
Are insignificant and calm as night 

Compared to what he feels when forced to bear 
The storm within his soul, that wreaks its vengeance there. 

Thus constituted as few mortals are. 

He suffers anguish to the last degree ; 
When in this mood he is more wretched, far, 

Than those less sensitive can ever be ; 

[Page twenty-seven'i 



But when the fury of the storm is spent, 
And hope once more illumes the lurid sky, 

His bosom heaves again with glad content, 
While gratitude and love beams from his eye 

That kindles now with joy inspired by One on high. 



PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR. 

"He sang of life, serenely sweet. 
With, now and then, a deeper note 
From some high peak, night yet remote. 

He voiced the world's absorbing beat." 

— From Dunbar's "The Poet." 

And thus has he, himself portrayed 

While musing o'er the poet's art, 

The secrets deep down in his heart 
And soul, by him were thus betrayed. 

His soul aflame with heavenly fire, 

He sang as poets only sing. 

With heart attuned to every string, 
Of his melodious lyre. 

He sang of joyous, mirthful days, 
Of happy homes, and happy hours. 
Of landscapes fair, of field, and flowers, 

And cheered us with his gladsome lays. 



[Page twenty-eight] 



But when he passed from gay to grave, 
And touched a sadder, sweeter note. 
Our spirits with him seemed to float 

Upon a sympathetic wave. 

But now, alas ! no more we'll hear 
His songs of joy, nor sorrowing cry, 
But grieve, that he so young, should die, 

And lay a wreath upon his bier. 



SUNBEAM. 

The sky was o'er-cast and most threatening, 

My spirit was mantled in gloom. 
While hope from my heart was departing. 

And all was as drear as the tomb ; 
'Twas then that a ray of bright sunlight 

Burst forth o'er the path that I tread. 
And O ! how I welcomed its presence 

As 'round me its glories were shed. 

I love thee, O beautiful sunbeam ! 

Thy rays are so pure and so bright. 
You flashed on my life in its darkness, 

And flooded my soul with your light ; 
To a life that is darkened and gloomy. 

To a heart that is lonely and sad. 
There's naught like thy glorious presence 

Will make the despairing heart glad. 

[Page twenty-nine] 



May I bask ever more in your splendor? 

I ventured to ask w^ith a sigh, 
But the sentence had scarcely been uttered, 

When a shadow passed over the sky ; 
Then fearing that I had offended 

By asking for more than my share, 
With many regrets for my rashness, 

I fled from its bright presence there. 

But quickly regaining my courage. 

And seeking its presence once more, 
I found it was still brightly gleaming, 

With a brilliance as great as before ; 
But the earth as it turned on its axis 

Was chasing it swiftly away, 
And I knew that it shortly would vanish, 

And night would succeed the bright day. 

I watched you depart precious sunbeam. 

As you drifted far out of my sight. 
And I knew that for others, your presence 

Would cause day to succeed the drear night. 
Yes, other dark days will be brightened, 

And others will welcome your glow, 
For surely it is your blest mission. 

To brighten wherever you go. 



[Page thirty] 



Yes, beautiful, beautiful sunbeam ! 

You gladdened my heart and my home, 
But I made a mistake in supposing 

That for me you were glowing alone ; 
For now do I know that your mission 

Is to gladden the hearts of all men, 
So I'll patiently wait your returning. 

To brighten and cheer me again. 



IN REPLY TO MRS. BROWNING'S "HOW 
I LOVE THEE." 

Well lack-a-day ! Gewhiz ! Oh my ! Ah me ! 

I'm much surprised and very grateful, when 

I find that I, among all other men, 
Am your ideal, my dear, dear Mrs. B. — , 
And that in all the world no other he 

Can claim thy loving thoughts e'en now and then ; 

That every morn you wake to think again 
Of me, of me alone my dear. Oh gee! 
You love me in the sun and candle light. 

That is, before as well as after dark ; 
You love me all day long and through the night ; 

You cling to me like glue, or like the bark 
Of some green saplin. You thrill me with delight, 

And make me feel as happy as a lark. 



[Page thirty-one] 



ABRAM KONAOS 

or 

THE HERO OF THE POTTER'S FIELD. 

Ye proud and haughty ones ! come here and weep, 
Here by this potter's field, where paupers sleep ! 
Shed if you can, one sympathetic tear, 
For those poor creatures who lie buried here ! 

The poor forsaken, wretched ones of earth — 
Some never knew a moment's joy from birth, 
While others prospered, till by Fortune's wave. 
They were swept downward to a pauper's grave. 

Their lives so full of bitter woe and grief. 
From sorrow's blight, had never found relief, 
Until at last, delivered by their God, 
Their bodies here were placed beneath the sod. 

Did you e'er stop to think that Fate's decree 
Might fix the same sad doom for you and me? 
And at the close of life, when forced to yield, 
Our resting place may be the potter's field ? 

We cannot tell what changes may occur. 
How many are today what once they were ? 
And in the future, as time glides away, 
How many will be what they are today ? 

[Page thirty-two] 



There are those here whose souls, though great and grand, 
Had suffered blight from Fate's relentless hand, 
Till they, discouraged, yielding to despair, 
Found in their graves relief from want and care. 

On yonder side, beneath that mound of earth, 
There rests a hero, great as e'er had birth ; 
Most humble was his lot, and brief his days. 
Yet has he merited eternal praise. 

Two months ago his father died and left 
His wife and only child alone, bereft 
Of every friend ; he had no means to leave 
For those he left behind to mourn and grieve. 

Soon after death its hand on him had laid. 

Into that humble home there came a babe — 

Poor little lamb ! How wretched and forlorn 

Are those to whom you came ! Why were you born ? 

What joy you brought, and also sorrow, too. 

For those so unprepared to welcome you ! 

Their path was rough and strewed with thorns before, 

But now the wolf stands knocking at the door! 

The mother now, with infant at her breast. 
Seeks work from those who are with plenty blest, 
But from her sad appeal they turn away — 
"They wanted someone who could earn her pay." 

[Page thirty-three] 



Then little Abram, with a firm resolve, 
Decides — though very young — that he will solve 
The bitter problem of obtaining bread — 
"Dear mother, I'll take care of you!" he said. 

Out in the cold and on the wintry street, 
Where want and sorrow, thieves and beggars meet 
With wealth and luxury, with hope and joy. 
Went this young hero, as a "paper boy." 

But he was doomed to meet with poor success, 
And when he saw his mother's sad distress, 
He ate but little — much less than before 
In order that his mother might have more. 

She reasoned with him, but to no avail, 
Say what she would, she never could prevail 
On him to eat a morsel more ; yet still he strove 
To furnish food for those he so much loved. 

One day upon the street the passers-by 

At Abram's corner missed the childish cry 

Of "Paper, mister? Won't you buy one, please?" 

The "paper boy" was stricken with disease. 

He had been taken ill the night before. 
His poor sad mother, weary, sick and sore 
In mind, now clasped him in her arms, and said, 
"You're sick, my child ! I'll carry you to bed !" 

[Page thirty-four] 



And as he felt her tears drop on his cheek, 
He said to her (his voice was low and weak) : 
"We're very poor since father died, 'tis true, 
But please don't weep, for I'll take care of you." 

When morning dawned around that humble hearth, 
The spirit of her boy had fled from earth ; 
His lifeless little form lay on the bed — 
"Died of starvation !" so the doctor said. 

There lies the hero, in that unmarked grave, 
Who starved, while here on earth, that he might save 
For those poor helpless ones who claimed his love — 
Did martyr great as he e'er dwell above ? 

Yes, there he lies, in his eternal sleep. 
And o'er him there the angels sure must weep. 
Why, then, should you his lowly life despise 
When he is honored thus beyond the skies ? 

In yon mausoleum repose the great. 
The rich and haughty, who were blest by Fate, 
But to our love their lives have ne'er appealed 
As does this "Hero of the Potter's field." 



[Page thirty-Gve'i 



THE ROCK OF AGES. 

(Written in reference to a large tenement building that was never completed.) 

An oriental traveler, who is quite a connoisseur 

In matters of antiquity, more knowledge to procure. 

Had wandered forth on High street in search of ancient lore. 

And was rewarded for his troubles a thousand fold or more. 

Just north of Hubbard avenue he stopped and raised his eyes. 
And o'er his classic features swept a look of mute surprise ; 
He stood there gazing speechless, for quite a little while. 
Then stammered to a passerby: "What is this ancient pile? 

I've visited the Vatican and Coliseum at Rome ! 
I've traveled much in foreign lands, and also much at home! 
I've seen the Tower of London, the churches of Dundee, 
And Leaning Tower of Pisa on the Mediterranean sea ! 

I've seen the Topes of Hindustan — ruined castles on 

the Rhine, 
Embattled towers of Scotland — I've been in every clime ! 
Explored the Sphinx and Pyramids along the river Nile, 
But I never saw the equal of this massive grey-stone pile ! 

"What is this mighty ruin, sir?" he asked the passer-by. 
Who studied for a moment, then hastened to reply : 
"My father used to tell me, my childish whims to please. 
About an ancient people, called Aborigines. 



[Page thirty -six] 



According to tradition, before Montezuma's day, 
Some of those ancient people thought tenements might pay ; 
So on this site was started this building by those sages, 
And you'll find in ancient history, 'twas called The Rock 
of Asfes." 



FRIENDSHIP. 

How blest are they who love. 
And also are beloved ! How bright the sun ! 
How fragrant are the flowers ! How sweet the strains 
Of music to the ear, if we but feel 
The joyous thrill of friendly sympathy, 
And know fond hearts doth beat in unison 
With ours. 'Tis then the earth a paradise 
Appears, as we go forth in peace, content. 
Our souls inspired with hope and gratitude, 
And feel within ourselves 'tis good to live. 

But he who is not loved, nor loves in turn, 
Is but a human derelict, adrift. 
Upon life's turbid sea, a hopeless wreck 
That menaces all other craft afloat. 



[Page thirty-seven] 



HAVE YOU THOUGHT? 

(Written after the birth of the heir to the largest fortune on earth.) 

Have you thought about the baby that was born the 

other day? 
He is richer far than Croesus — richest babe on 

earth, they say : 
Heir to many hundred milHons — wealth so vast that 

it would make 
E'en a nation very wealthy that could win so rich 

a stake. 
Give the matter your attention; think a moment 

if you will ; 
If in many parts divided, each would be a fortune 

still. 
It would make a hundred thousand rich enough for 

you or me, 
And a thousand babies richer, far, than any one 

should be. 

Have you thought about the fortune that this baby 

will possess? 
Of the misery and sorrow ; of the want and 

wretchedness ; 
Of the poverty and suffering; of the sad and 

sickly smile 
Of the other hundred thousand, paupered by that 

princely pile? 

[Page thirty-eight] 



Desolation — gaunt Starvation stalk where e'er its 

shadows fall, 
For, that vast accumulation makes them wretched, 

one and all. 
Hear you not the cry of hunger — see you not the 

mothers weep, 
Knowing that their bal)ies' portions help to swell 

that monster heap? 

Have you thought about the methods that its builder 

has employed. 
As he crushed all competition — how his victims 

he destroyed? 
How he ruined many people ; driving them to want 

and need, 
As he forced them out of business, just to sate his 

loathsome greed? 
All those cruel, ruthless methods, with that tainted 

heap of gold, 
That young baby will inherit, from that tyrant, 

I am told. 
All his life that little baby will be chained to 

specters grim — 
Specters of those ruined victims. Tell me, do 

you envy him ? 



[Page thirty-nine] 



Have you thought about the Baby that was born 

on Christmas Day, 
In the shadow of Mount Moab, where the Jordan 

wends its way? 
Nor in palace, nor in mansion, came that precious 

Little Lamb, 
But the manger of a stable, far away in 

Bethlehem. 
Poor was He as any baby that the world has 

ever seen, 
But with love for man inspired, was that lowly 

Nazarene. 
Brightened by the passing ages, is the luster of 

His fame, 
As the countless millions worship, and revere His 

blessed name. 



PERUNA. 



Great clouds of dust were rising fast. 
As up through Shadesville quickly passed 
A youth who, like an auctioneer. 
Cried to the people far and near — 
Peruna. 



[Page forty] 



His step was firm, his aspect glad ; 
(He was a merry-looking lad) 
While, like a peanut-roaster, rung 
The accents of his chattering tongue — 
Peruna. 

The villagers, in dire alarm 
Glanced out toward the Hartman farm, 
And saw him stop and turn about 
And wildly wave his hands and shout 
Peruna. 

"Behold this monument," said he, 
"To that gigantic industry, 
That gave Columbus world-wide fame 
By coupling hers with that great name — 
Peruna. 

That great elixir if you please. 
That makes immune from all disease, 
And cures all the pains and aches 
Of every one who buys and takes 
Peruna. 

Look in the papers if you will, 
And note the millions who were ill. 
But now have fully convalesced, 
And gained their health, by using blest 
Peruna." 



[Page forty-one] 



A stranger murmured with a sigh, 
"My county, sir, has voted dry ; 
My beverage Hke Dead-sea fruit — " 
The youth here shouts : "Just substitute 
Peruna." 

The stranger smiled and grasped his hand, 
And asked : "Am I to understand 
Those joyous days will come again?" 
When lo ! there answered that refrain — 
Peruna. 

"Come with me stranger," cried the boy, 
"I'll lead you to the fount of joy 
Where we can sing and dance and laugh, 
As, at the fountain head, we quaff 
Peruna." 

With hands still clasped, they quickly sped 
Far out of sight, while overhead 
Like tempests raging in the air, 
Echoed the chorus of that pair — 
Peruna. 



[Page forty-two] 



I'VE BEEN RETROSPECTIN', MANDY. 

I've been retrospectin' Mandy, and thinkin' 'bout the days 
When people were more social like and friendly in 

their ways ; 
When there was much more fellowship, and not so much 

of greed, 
And each one lent a helpin' hand to them that was 

in need. 

Men didn't follow cheatin' then and livin' by their wits, 
And the women didn't gossip and give each other fits, 
But all were kind and neighborly, and tried their 

level best 
To make things sort o' cheerful like, and pleasant 

for the rest. 

Yes, all the folks were willin' then to do the best 

they could 
And, like a lovin' family, work for each others good. 
And if we didn't have the luxuries that the people 

have today, 
We had jest as much enjoyment but in a different way. 

There was quiltins for the women-folks, and huskin'- 

bees for men, 
And then we had our apple-cuts and dances now and then, 
And talk abot our dances, — how we did toe and heel 
When the band struck up the "Moneymusk" or the 

"Ole Virginey Reel." 

[Page forty-three] 



The other night at Rader's Hall, I watched them 

dance awhile, 
And of all fool doins Mandy! I couldn't help but smile 
As I watched the youngsters waltzin', and I don't 

blame Dekin White 
For sayin' its jest huggin' set to music, for I seed 

that he is right. 

When we used to go joy-ridin' we hitched up Buck 

and Bright, 
And we had lots of time to aurevoir afore we were 

out o' sight ; 
For we moved off sort o' moderate like, as our 

chauffeur hawed and geed. 
But we never got arrested for our excessive speed. 

Our touring cars were firm and strong, built specially 

for loads, 
And gee! how they did jiggle us as they bumped 

along the road ; 
But there wasn't any 'splodin or puncturin' of tires. 
Nor was there any slippin' of trolleys off the wires. 

Them autos didn't turn turtle, or skid around the turns. 
And they wasn't forever climbin' poles like these new 

style concerns. 
And whether out on business trips, or simply ridin' round, 
If we didn't go so tearin' fast, we got back safe 

and sound. 

[Page forty-four] 



Of course we are willin' to admit our schedules 

were slow, 
But we didn't let a thing like that discourage us 

you know, 
But kept a movin' right along, if not so very fast, 
And we generally succeeded in gettin' there at last. 

But now the folks are so all-fired smart they are 

flirtin' with the stars, 
And tryin' their best to gossip with the people 

up in Mars, 
They're racin' 'round among the clouds, and I 

wouldn't be surprised 
If they'd soon be making flyin' trips to the Mansions 

in the Skies. 

Then if Saint Peter don't look out, and watch that 

gate of his 
The Interests will rush right in and form monopolies, 
And since they've been doin' as they please, they've 

got so dogon bold. 
They might corner all them pearly gates, and the 

angel's harps of gold. 

And if they'd get to runin' things as they do down 

here below. 
Poor folks would have to try and find some other 

place to go, 



[Page forty-£ve'\ 



For they would charge them to get in, and keep 

a-boostin' up the rates, 
Till none exceptin' them that's rich could get inside 

the gates. 

Today I seed a blamed machine they call a phonograph. 
And as true as I am tellin' you, the thing can talk 

and laugh. 
And make a speech 'bout politics, and it sounds so 

natural too. 
For it hollers "thief" and "robber" jest like stump 

speakers do ; 

And as I listened to it, it seemed so very strange 
That I asked them if the thing had sense, and 

intellect and brains, 
They said "they reckoned that it had, leastwise 

about as much 
As the average politician and the party boss and such." 

Some college chaps was tellin' me that I don't talk 

very well. 
But that I'm "shy" on grammar, and "phonetic" 

when I spell. 
They also say my diction's "punk," whatever that 

may be, 
But whether Greek or Hottentot its all the same to me. 



[Page forty-six] 



I told them that I wasn't educated to do as they 

are doin' 
When they go 'round night-shirt paradin,' and a 

rah, rip, zip, bazooin', 

But if I wasn't ppsted in syntax, mood and tense, 

That I always ti^d to talk and act with a leetle 
c, - - 
common sense. 

If a woman felt like talkin' (which frequently occurs), 
She jest went out a-callin among some friends of hers, 
Then with knittin'-needles flyin' them woman-folks 

would sit 
And visit mighty social like, and talk, and talk, and knit. 

And there was jest as much enjoyment in them old-time 

knittin' bees 
As there is in modern pow-wows, sich as afternoons 

and teas. 
Where knittin' 'pears to be out of date, but goodness 

gracious knows 
They keep right on a-talkin', and alers will I 'spose. 

They even use 'lectricity for talkin' purposes. 

For Dekin White was tellin' 'bout two wider friends 

of his 
That had wires run in their houses, where each one 

lives alone, 
And now they're talkin' half the time, he says, by 

telephone. 

[Page forty-sevenl 



I said, when women get to talkin', they keep up such a 

rapid fire 
I should think so many ideas would crowd one another 

off the wire ; 
And he said he reconed if they did, it wouldn't be 

many months 
Till they'd double-track the talkin' route so both 

could talk at once. 

One day, at Olentangy park, I found I was turned about ; 
I walked up to a youngster to ask about the route. 
He was a dandy little chap with a talcum-powdered face, 
And he seemed so high-falutin', that I thought he 
owned the place. 

I nodded to him, timid like, and says, "how are ye, sir?" 
He looked at me, then at his girl, and then he winked 

at her, 
And told her I was "dippy" with "wheels a-buzzin' 

in my head." 
And when I told him I was lost, he looked at me 

and said : 

"Oh! ain't it awful, Mable?" "My name's Josiah," says I. 
He says : "Jest hear him warble, kiddo," and "how is 

that for high" ? 
And then to me he said : "Old Scout, if you're 

wishin' to skidoo. 
Jest trim your lamps, and hit the trail, so-long, its 

up to you!" 

[Page forty-eight] 



When Patrick Henry thundred in the House of Burgesses, 
He didn't use slang phrases to harangue the members with, 
And when Daniel Webster's eloquence was the wonder 

of the land. 
He used the kind of language that the folks could 

understand. 

But, if I should tell this to the youngsters, I s'pose that 

they would smile, 
And say, them "guys" were "on the blink," and never 

up in style. 
Well ! style hasn't kept Old Glory wavin' from the time 

t'was first unfurled. 
And made this mighty nation the grandest in the world ! 

It didn't free the colonists from the thralldom of 

King George, 
And sustain the starvin' patriots encamped at 

Valley Forge ! 
It wasn't style that kept our boys a-marchin' from 

Atlanta to the sea, 
And spurred Grant's loyal legions on to glorious victory ! 

But is was earnest elTort of plain heroic men. 

And jest such women, Mandy, as you have always been. 

And when Gabriel sounds his trumpet, and the gathering 

host appears 
He'll assign the place of honor to the good Old Pioneers ! 

[Page forty-nine] 



OUR FATHERS. 

Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri, 

— Hor. Epis. 1. Lib. 1. 

Not wont to swear in the words of any master. 

(The above line from Horace was used as the motto on the author's 
ancestral coat of arms.) 

All honor to our sires, whose names appear 

In brilliant lettering on history's page, 

Whose lamps of life — bright beacons of their age - 
Gleamed with a splendor rich and pure and clear ! 
Inspired by love and gratitude sincere, 

We venerate each patriot and sage 

Who left, unsullied, as a heritage, 
A name their children ever must revere. 
Through fear or favor never did they swerve, 

But battled for the right with courage rare ; 
Where duty called, they led without reserve. 

And left the impress of their valor there ; 
Yet, for no master were they wont to serve, 

Or in the words of any master swear. 



[Page Hfty] 



"IF A BODY MEET A BODY." 

While walking down the street one day 
A fair young maiden came my way, 
I stepped aside to pass her by 
But she side-stepped the same as I, 
Then back I dodged from whence I came 
Just as the maiden did the same, 
And then, a sea-saw game was played 
Between myself and this fair maid. 

From right to left, from left to right, 

We hopped and skipped with all our might. 

We hawed and geed, and shied and veered, 

But neither of our paths were cleared. 

Until at last I stopped and said. 

While I stand still you go ahead ! 

She smiled and answered : "Good for you." 

Then passing added : "Now skidoo" ! 



[Page Hfty-one] 



"HOME, SWEET HOME," ON THE 
RAPPAHANNOCK. 

'Tis night ; a cold December night 

In Eighteen Sixty-three, 
The bleak north wind, in fitful gusts. 

Moans through each leafless tree ; 
The wintry night is dark and drear — 

A howling storm is rife ; 
The elements, in furious rage, 

Clash in a maddening strife. 

A hundred thousand men are camped 

On Rappahannock's banks, 
Where they are waiting for the morn 

To form their martial ranks ; 
The boys in blue are on the left. 

And those in gray the right. 
Where, face to face, those deadly foes 

Are camping for the night. 

When hark ! above the raging storm. 

Upon the midnight air, 
The strains of "Dixie" float across 

The Rappahannock there ; 
And when they hear that favorite song 

The one they love so well, 
Those Southerners rise to their feet 

And give the rebel yell. 

[Page iifty-two] 



The yell sweeps up and down the lines, 

Repeated o'er and o'er 
In hellish hate, until it ends 

In one tumultuous roar. 
Then "Yankee Doodle" echoes back 

Defiance to the host. 
Who, o'er the Rappahannock there. 

Have yelled their spiteful boast. 

The deafening cheers from Yankee throats 

Have scarcely died away, 
'Till "Maryland, my Maryland," 

Comes from the band in gray ; 
While in reply, the boys in blue. 

With patriotic pride, 
Hurl "Hail Columbia" at their foes 

There on the other side. 

In deadly hate they shout and jeer 

At one another there. 
Until a din of hideous rage 

Disturbs the midnight air. 
For, on the morrow, they will meet 

Upon the field of strife, 
And in the battle's furious clash. 

Each seek the others life. 



[Page £{ty-three1 



And ere the setting of the sun, 

Full many a one will lie, 
A bruised and mangled corpse, beneath 

The cold December sky; 
With all their strife and hatred past. 

And all their troubles o'er. 
They'll wake no more at bugle call. 

But sleep forever more. 

Sad thoughts like these are passing through 

A youthful soldier's mind, 
And causing him to think of friends 

Whom he has left behind ; 
He thinks of father, mother dear, 

Of brothers, sisters, too. 
Up in that blest Ohio home 

Where all are kind and true. 

With quavering voice he sings of home, 

The place on earth most dear. 
And joining with him one by one 

These soldiers, far and near. 
Both blue and gray, take up the theme 

In accents sad and grave. 
Until the melody sweeps forth 

Like some huge crested wave. 



[Page fi/ty-four] 



No more those taunts of bitter hate 

Are hurled from blue to gray — 
The echoes of that rebel yell 

Once more have died away ; 
One thought prevails that's ever dear 
To all where e'er they roam, 
And a hundred thousand voices join 
In singing "Home, Sweet Home." 



THE BELLE OF LONG AGO. 

'Tis not of stately Gibson girl with storied 

form and grace, 
Nor yet of dainty Trillbies I would sing: 
But a belle of other days with a natural 

form and face, 
Is the subject of the message I would bring. 
She was not versed in coquetry, and those 

deceptive arts 
Which always keep admirers guessing so : 
She was not queen of (social) clubs but she 

was queen of hearts. 
And she reigned with moderation long ago. 



[Page £fty-6ve] 



She was lady-like and modest, while her face 

was wreathed in smiles, 
And she always knew exactly where she was at: 
Her dress, while neat and simple, was not 

spoiled by latest styles. 
And she never wore a Merry-widow hat. 
Unencmiibered by the trappings that adorn the 

modern belle, 
This girl was lithe and graceful as a doe, 
While the eyes of lustrous beauty of the 

famous wild gazelle 
Were no brighter than the belles' of long ago. 

She had a charming disposition, and her voice 

was low and sweet, 
As she gently spoke to everyone she met : 
She did not raise disturbances upon the 

public street. 
For she never was a noisy suffragete. 
She did not seek a marriage with a Marquis, 

Duke nor Earl, 
Nor buy a titled husband just for show, 
But the sacred title "wife" was sufficient 

for the girl 
Who used to be the belle of long ago. 



[Page Hfty-six] 



She had exalted notions of her duty as a wife, 

And one that still is held by just a few. 

She believed that marriage was a tie that binds 

for life, 
And she always was devoted, kind and true. 
And when poet or romancer makes his most 

exalted flights, 
And the lustre of his genius sheds a glow. 
That lustre will be focused on the page whereon 

he writes 
The story of the belle of long ago. 



[Page Sfty-seven'i 



SONNET TO CLEVELAND OHIO. 

All hail to thee ! Queen City of the lakes, 
Thou modern Tyre, magnificent and grand, 
Thy face set to the sea, thy back to land. 

Thy beauteous scenery of each partakes ; 

While Erie's murmuring wave forever breaks 
There, at thy feet, upon the pebbly strand, 
And thy fair brow by cooling zephyrs fanned 

Is thus refreshed, as one who just awakes. 

Not only fair art thou, but also great — 

Great in the marts of commerce and finance ; 

'Twixt land and sea, thou art an open gate 

Through which commercial traffic must advance. 

And well thou knew that thou wert blest by fate, 
For, well indeed, hast thou improved thy chance. 



[Page Hfty-eight] 



LINES ON READING "JOYOUS JUNE 
IN NEW YORK." 

We have heard from old Manhattan, 

Through the poet's plaintive wail ; 
How they're longing for a blizzard, 

Glacier, iceberg, snow or hail ; 
How they're sweating, stewing, grumbling — 

Finding fault with old King Sol — 
Harping on the hot air subject. 

As they sit around and loll. 
Loll around in shady places, 
Mopping sweat from florid faces 
With an enervating languor — 
Every voice attuned to anger, 
Mumbling, grumbling, howling, growling. 
Every minute growing hotter. 

That they're hot beneath the collar 

Any one can plainly see. 
This, together with the weather 

Makes them hot as hot can be ; 
Then they long to chew old icebergs. 

With a glacier for a seat. 
Claiming at the present writing. 

It would be a splendid treat. 

[Page £ity-nine'\ 



Avalanches are the candy, 

If they only had some handy 

They would very quickly seize them, 

For their temperature would please them 

And they'd stop their foolish grumbling, 

For they'd quickly get much cooler. 

Drinks they claim are liquid fuel, 

(Old "firewater," I suppose). 
I would think it quite improper 

To indulge in drinks like those. 
If they leave Manhattan Island, 

Wriggling from that fiery drink, 
It might cause a fierce sirocco 

That would scorch us — don't you think ? 
We much rather they would swelter. 
Than rush on us helter-skelter 
With their fiery air and water. 
For we wish for nothing hotter 
That the weather we've been having 
Through this sultry month of June. 



[Page sixty] 



ATHENS. 

(The following poem is descriptive of the village of Athens, Pa., and the 

neighboring boroughs of Sayre and South Waverly, both of which are 

located between the Susquehanna and Chemung rivers, which 

form a junction below Athens.) 

Fair Athens ! Lovely village of the plains, 
Where peace abides and sweet contentment reigns, 
Where nature in her happier moods bestows 
Her choicest gifts — where Susquehanna flows ; 
And in her onward course on passing thee. 
Stops to admire, then hastens to the sea. 

Back from thy plains, majestic hills arise 

And rear their lofty crests toward the skies ; 

Gigantic sentries that for ages past, 

Have stood on guard, and will while time shall last; 

On every morn while yet the day is young. 

Their shadows will be cast o'er the Chemung ; 

And from their rugged cliffs with mocking glee, 

Thy murmuring voice will echo back to thee ; 

And by that echoing voice, each stately hill. 

Will warn thee, Athens, that they're guarding still. 

Thy glorious rivers, one on either side, 

Go sweeping past in their majestic pride — 

Drawn by thy charms, until at last they meet, 

And flow united to the Chesapeake ; 

And as their waters mingle with the sea. 

Thy praises still, they murmur back to thee. 

[Page sixty-one] 



Athens, I hear that thy young neighbor Sayre, 

Is longing to unite with thee — beware ! 

Consider well, altho a worthy swain, 

Thou might desire thy liberty again — 

I say, thou might — I do not say thou will. 

But would rejoice to see thee happy still; 

And if thou'rt sure that you can all agree, 

Join hands with Sayre, and with South Waverly - 

Wed if thou must — enjoy a greater fame, 

But, I beseech thee, do not change thy name. 

How much, fair Athens, does that name imply, 

No greater city flourished, 'neath the sky. 

Than ancient Athens, capital of Greece, 

First in the arts of war and arts of peace. 

How great ! How grand ! Magnificent and free 

Supreme on land, and mistress of the sea 

Since Miltiades, her illustrious son, 

Crushed Darius' hordes at glorious Marathon; 

And Themistocles to make the rout complete, 

At Salamis destroyed the Persian fleet. 

'Twas there the classic banner was unfurled, 
And Homer's Epics given to the world ; 
Altho three thousand years have past away, 
As they were greatest then, they are today ; 
And lovely Sappho's sweet melodious lyre 
There, too, was tuned to catch the heavenly fire, 



[Page sixty-two] 



That with such raptures thrilled the listener's breast, 

And made her Lyrics grander than the rest. 

The sculptor Phidias, foremost of all time. 

Whose genius made the Parthenon sublime, 

Left to the world, to Athens and to Greece 

Olympian Zeus, that wondrous masterpiece — 

That grand conception, in ivory and gold, 

To represent a Deity of old — 

A special object of Athenian pride — 

Classed with the wonders of the world beside. 

While next in grandeur, and but little less. 

Was Venus DeMedici by Cleomenes. 

That priceless gem of art, filched from its home, 

For centuries was lost, until, near Rome, 

At Hadrian's villa, it at last was found. 

Where it lay hid so long beneath the ground. 

Then Praxiteles, with a master hand. 

Gave Aphrodite Knidos to that land 

Of literature, philosophy and art — 

That land so dear to every scholar's heart. 

What great results her painters, too, achieved, 
Zeuxis' grapes, the very birds deceived. 
While Apelles' Venus rising from the Sea, 
As it was then, forever more will be 
Par excellence of every painter's dreams — 
The masterpiece of mythologic themes. 

[Page sixty-three] 



What grand designs her architects conceived ! 
What great results her artisans achieved ! 
Her AcropoHs, Hke some bright fairy-land, 
Teemed with magnificence on every hand, 
There had her temples risen one by one, 
The Jupiter Olympus, and the Parthenon, 
And all the rest of which her history speaks — 
Those famous structures of the famous Greeks. 

Athens, canst thou look backward and behold 

That great Hellenic capital of old. 

With her magnificence on every side — 

With all her grandeur — all her honest pride — 

And on beholding, canst thou then demur 

In feeling pride that thou wert named for her? 

No queen was e'er with greater beauty crowned — 
Thy sweeping plains in loveliness abound, 
Fair nature kindly did her part for thee. 
Thou must decide what the result will be, 
Shalt thou be satisfied with slothful ease. 
Or shalt thou rear another Pericles? 
Among thy daughters at some future day, 
Shall one arise like fair Aspasia, 
And to the world with solemn truth proclaim 
That thou art worthy thy illustrious name? 



[Page sixty-iour'] 



THE PASSING OF THE "HELLO GIRL." 

Well, there, at last the change is made, so I have 

learned today ; 
They have dismissed the "hello" girls while I have 

been away, 
And put an automatic switch-board there in their 

place I've heard, 
That makes the right connections, but never says 

a word. 

I knew it was a-comin — I knew they'd have to go, 
But still it all upsets me, for I shall miss them so ; 
And I'm not the least bit backward in sayin' that 

its mean, 
For there's a sight o' difference, 'twixt a girl and 

that machine. 

The machine is so uncivil, and so unsocial, too ; 
When you ask the thing a question, it never 

answers you ; 
When we asked the girls a question, we were always 

sure to hear 
A soft low answer murmured back in our 

listenin' ear. 

It always was so handy, and such a little task, 
When you wanted information, to call "Central" 
up and ask ; 

[Page sixty-Gve] 



But now, suppose we want to know the score or 
time o' day ; 
I'd like to know who'll tell us, since "Central's" 
gone away. 

When I came home this mornin' I hurried to 

the 'phone, 
To notify some friends of mine, that I had got 

back home ; 
I took down the receiver, and listened for a while, 
And as I thought of "Central," it kind o' made 

me smile. 

I thought she would be anxious, to hear my voice 

once more. 
And I meant to talk more pleasant, than I ever 

had before ; 
But that familiar "Number, please!" that I always 

used to hear. 
Was somehow strangely missin' in my 

impatient ear. 

I shouted: 'Ha there, Central! Halloo! Halloo! 

Susie dear ! 
What the dickens is the matter? Say, Susie, 

can't you hear? 
Halloo there ! Wake up, Central ! Ha Susie, 

sakes alive ! 
I'm in a dreadful hurry, give me fourteen 

seventy-five ! 

[Page sixty-six] 



Then someone burst out laughin' and in 'bout 

half a second more, 
I found my wife was standin' behind me in 

the door ; 
It made me feel so foolish, for I knew that 

she had heard 
The entire conversation, and hadn't missed a word. 

And when she got through laughin,' she looked at 

me and said : 
"Don't stand there lookin' like a fool, but just go 

right ahead 
And turn the dial 'round to one, to four, 

to seven, then five — 
Then tell the folks, though feelin' sick, you're 

glad you're still alive. 

"And bear in mind hereafter, when you want to 

use the 'phone. 
That all the extra talkin', must be done by you alone; 
For Susie will not answer, nor speak to you I fear, 
For it's an automaton, that you're callin' Susie dear." 



[Page sixty-seven] 



TAKE THE FLAGS. 

(Written when the order was issued to return the rebel flags.) 

Hail to thee ! fair, sunny Southland, 

From the North we greet thee now, 
Take the flags you long have wanted, 

Drive that shadow from thy brow ; 
Well we know 'tis not a shadow. 

Caused by malice, hate or fear, 
But concern for precious emblems, 

That by you are held most dear. 

Yes, you prize them for the mem'ries, 

That to you are dear as life, 
Not for what they represented 

In those days of deadly strife ; 
Let the past then be forgotten. 

Take the flags that once were thine, 
"For to err is only human, 

To forgive, is most divine." 

Take the flags, we will not keep them. 

Though we took them once from you. 
You have since then served most nobly, 

In the uniform of blue. 
We remember Santiago, 

Where you bravely fought and bled, 
And the field of San Juan also. 

Hallowed by your southern dead. 



[Page sixty-eight] 



Take the flags, yes, take them, keep them; 

We relinquish every claim ; 
Cherish them, we will not blame you, 

We would prize them just the- same; 
And we know that in the future, 

Should we hear the bugle call. 
North and South will be united, 

With "Old Glory" leading all. 



HUMAN VULTURES. 

He that's slandered by his neighbors. 

May be better far than they ; 
For the best of folks are harassed, 

By the stupid jackass' bray. 

Mongrel curs are always snarling. 

At the noble mastiff's heels ; 
But how little does he heed them. 

For contempt is all he feels. 

Carrion-kites and human vultures 

Must observe a common law — 
Each one fattens on the offal, 

That he gathers in his craw. 

Good and bad are uncongenial — 
(There's a maxim you should learn) 

And who e'er condemns the vicious. 
Are abused by them in turn. 

[Page sixty-nine'] 



Birds of prey in flocks are gathered, 
Stripping putrid flesh from bone ; 

While the king of birds — the eagle, 
Soars majestically alone. 

Place a lamb with wolves or tigers 
And its chance for life is slim — 

Leave it to their tender mercy, 

And they'll tear it limb from limb. 

When I hear the vile and vulgar, 
Venting forth their vicious spleen ; 

I at once get interested 

In the man they swear is mean. 

And I find with few exceptions, 
'Tis a falsehood — every word ; 

And the one who thus is slandered, 
Is above the vulgar herd. 



[Page seventy] 



THE QUEEN OF FRENZIED FINANCE. 

I stood one day by a lonely bier where the corpse 

of a woman lay, 
And I gazed with awe on the stricken one, whose 

spirit had passed away. 
They had called her the "Queen of Frenzied Finance," 

and well had she earned the name. 
For, in playing her hand for princely stakes, she 

had won in many a game. 

She had climbed the ladder of earthly fame till she 

reached the topmost rung, 
And her name had become a household word, and the 

theme of every tongue ; 
And the wondering world had been amazed by the 

woman's brilliant schemes, 
Which were unsurpassed in the realms of romance 

by fancy's wildest dreams. 

And at the height of her queenly career, with 

millions at her command. 
She was flattered and sought, on every side, by the 

proudest of the land. 
In cottage, in mansion and palace of wealth, she 

was ever a welcome guest ; 
In city or hamlet, wherever she went, she was 

honored by all the rest. 

[Page seventy-one] 



Her legion of friends were loyal and true as long 

as she reigned a queen, 
And at any time she needed their aid they were 

ready to intervene. 
With a bountiful hand she lavished her wealth, 

without the least restraint, 
And her beneficiaries never complained about 

the unholy taint. 

But she gambled with Fate, and she gambled with 

men at the hazardous game of chance. 
Till the gamblers were frenzied because they had 

lost to the "Queen of Frenzied Finance." 
Then the bubble burst one dismal day, and her 

reign of queen was o'er, 
And the fickle goddess of fortune smiled on the 

luckless queen no more. 

She had tempted Fate till the worm had turned, and 

fortune and luck had fled, 
While in their place the clouds of despair, had 

settled around her head ; 
And then her fall was a terrible one from her 

former high estate, 
For she was compelled to relinquish her throne 

to become the sport of fate. 



I Page seventy-two] 



From her mansion grand to a prison grim, they 

dragged her down one day, 
And they left her there in a felon's cell, to pine 

her life away ; 
While her former friends who had flattered and 

fawned, deserted her one and all. 
With never a word of friendly cheer from the day 

of her fatal fall. 

And when at last her spirit escaped, from its 

prison and torment here. 
And took its flight from that dreary cell, not a 

single friend came near ; 
\\4iile a lonely wreath from a little chlid, who 

had met her once by chance. 
Was the only token of love bestowed on the 

"Queen of Frenzied Finance." 



[Page seventy-three] 



CIVIC UNGODLINESS. 

(Written during the administration of a former mayor who enforced the 

Sunday-closing law in the front portion of bar-rooms only; while 

business was conducted as usual behind a portable screen 

which was used to separate the dry from the wet 

section of the room. 

Turn not away, but pause awhile and read 

The shameful record of licentious greed 

That holds your city in its cursed grip, 

While vice and averice, in partnership, 

Spurns all control, and with a brazen blare, 

Their right to rule, in mockery declare, 

While Decency, despairing, humbly pleads 

Her right to seek redress for lawless deeds 

That humble her, and flush her cheek wnth shame 

By tarnishing, like hers, the city's name. 

And when you hear her warning cry, beware 

The tigress' wrath when driven to her lair ! 

For suffering Patience when aroused at last. 

Is like the hurricane's tempestuous blast 

That wreaks destruction where it holds full sway. 

Destroying all that comes within its way. 

And if you longer fail to heed her call 

You soon may read the writing on the wall. 

The majesty of law! O, hollow sound! 
In legal lore one need not be profound 
That he may know, as every novice knows, 
Its majesty has long since been deposed; 

[Page seventy-four] 



And sacred temples where it erstwhile reigned. 
We find today polluted and profaned, 
While petty rulers, at the mob's behest, 
Pervert and change it into low burlesque, 
Then chuckle to themselves, in fiendish glee, 
At the success of their vile perfidy. 

No one who thirsts, on Sunday need to think 
That he must suffer for the want of drink. 
Although the fronts of all saloons appear 
Closed as the law requires, just watch the rear 
And note the ebb and flow as in and out, 
That human tide pursues its devious rout, 
Till none (except your officers) can fail 
To mark the course of that well-beaten trail. 
But, standing there in front, you fail to see 
Aught to explain so deep a mystery, 
For there is naught in view except a screen 
Back from the door, and vacancy between ; 
But look behind the screen and you will find 
A vast amount of difference behind. 

Naught but a screen 'twixt license and the law ? 
Is that the kind of line our rulers draw ? 
And that the barrier they interpose 
'Twixt law and order, and law and order's foes ? 



[Page seventy-five] 



When gay officials wish to flirt with both, 
They should consider the official oath 
Which they have taken to enforce the laws, 
And not vile graft to glut rapacious maws. 

But what is graft ? and why so madly sought 

By those officials willing to be bought ? 

'Tis that which gratifies the greedy lust 

For gain or power, — the price of bartered trust, 

Or bribery in any form or guise, 

As money, votes, campaign or other lies 

That tend to gain an end, or help to fill 

The filthy coffers of the grafter, till 

The ship of state is riddled fore and aft 

By the bombardment of this hellish graft. 

The sneaking varlet who purloins your purse 
Is bad enough indeed, but ten times worse 
The man you trust, who swears he will be true, 
Then, to the devil, sells himself, — and you? 
O, where are you ? and how do you like the way 
Your Judas kisses only to betray ? 
To gain your vote, he'll promise this and that, 
He'll grasp your hand, politely tip his hat, 
Kiss all your babies, pat you on the back, 
And make you think that he's a Cracker-Jack. 



[Page seventy-six] 



O vile hypocrisy ! and foul deceit ! 
Thy devotees who worship at thy feet 
Have learned thy craft, and ply it well, indeed. 
To gather votes whene'er they stand in need. 
Nor do they shirk, but follow any plan 
To steal or purchase every vote they can, 
Till Honor shrieks, and Satan wildly gloats 
To see them barter principle for votes. 

No wonder then when they have gained the prize, 

To square themselves, they seek a compromise ! 

So many different promises were made — 

Conflicting obligations to be paid — 

Opposing interests of each extreme — 

All must be reconciled ! and hence, the screen 

Through which we catch a transitory glimpse 

Of Satan and his coterie of imps, 

As, round the Bacchanalian board, they dance, 

While human satellites about them prance, 

Intent on gratifying each desire 

With none to interpose, nor check the fire 

Whose withering blast, fresh from the sulph'rous lake, 

Leaves desolation in its horrid wake. 

While, for the plunder, every grafter yearns, 

And Nero fiddles while the city burns. 



[Page seventy-seven] 



"What crimes have been committed in thy name 

Oh Liberty !" quoth Madam Roland ; and the same 

Regarding loyalty I'm loth to say 

Is also equally as true today, 

For ranting demagogues, on every hand, 

Pretend to be the saviors of the land 

And on the eagle fawn, that they may strip 

Him of his plumage for their benefit. 

And then your party boss — some former clerk, . 

Or graceless idler who should be at work — 

Some egotist, and often rogue or knave, 

Such is your master ; you, his dupe and slave. 

Whom he selects, whoever he may be. 

You must support to prove your loyalty 

To party and to principle. To what ? 

Why, graft and boodlers and official rot. 

It matters not which side you're on, a boss 

Controls the game ; the score is "hoss and boss" 

Twixt parties ; and you'll find by any name 

The stench of carrion is just the same. 

Should your good nature sometimes take offense, 
And you decide to act with common sense, 
Throw oft' the yoke, — renounce the bosses then, 
Emancipate yourself and vote for men. 



[Page seventy-eight] 



Brave men to battle with the people's foes, 
Men who, in their behalf, will interpose 
To right their wrongs and champion their cause, 
And execute, not compromise, the laws. 

Ambitious men, of high ideals, who aim 
To reach the higher altitudes of fame 
By honor's route, o'er which the pure and just 
Have ever traveled, and forever must. 

Proud men, — men who possess a civic pride. 
And wish to see their city glorified 
And honored by mankind both far and near, — 
Men who consider reputation dear. 

True men of lofty principle and thought. 
Men who are honest and cannot be bought. 
Men who expect no more, and are content 
With legal fees as their emolument. 

Pure men of moral worth who will not swerve 
From duties path, nor for corruption serve 
Nor compromise with vice, nor interpose 
Official power to favor virtues foes. 



[Page seventy-nine] 



LINES ON READING MRS. CLARK'S 

"WINTER LINGERS IN THE LAP 

OF SPRING." 

O yes ! the poet, like the lark, 

Now sings of love, but, Mrs. Clark, 

Were you in earnest ? Do you think 

Those lyrics are a waste of ink ? 

And tell me honest ; is it true 

That you are chilly through and through ? 

(Wait till I sneeze — ker-chee ! ker-chew !) 

A pity 'tis that you're so cool. 

Unsympathetic, heartless, cruel : 

When vernal poets seek the aid 

Of Pegasus, to serenade 

And sing the praises of their queens. 

Why thus confound them with "spring greens ?" 

(Will you please tell me what it means?) 

Why censure Winter — poor old chap ! 
For lingering in Miss Spring's lap ? 
You say that he's "the mean old thing" 
While that coquette you call "Sweet Spring" 
Bestows her smiles on us today. 
Then slyly whispers : "Winter, stay !" 
(Is it any wonder he acts gay?) 

[Page eighty] 



no ! the tears refuse to flow 
Because "Old Winter" does not go, 
It would be foolish if I cried 

As long as she is satisfied. 
And as for him, I must admit, 

1 rather glory in his grit. 

(Their joy is mutual — let him sit!) 



WE'RE COMIN', FATHER ABRAHAM. 

Well Mandy, I've been marchin' with the boys in 

blue once more ; 
Tho' I'm gettin' old and feeble, tho' I'm gettin' lame 

and sore, 
When I heard the bugle callin' for the men to fall 

in line, 
I didn't wait a minute, but joined those friends 

of mine. 

We didn't carry muskets in that parade of ours. 

We didn't carry bayonets, but each one carried flowers ; 

And when we reached the cemetery where rest 

our fallen brave. 
We strewed the flowers with tremblin' hands upon each 

comrade's grave. 

[Page eighty-one] 



You should have seen us marchin', as we slowly 

tramped along — 
It was a very curious sight — that old gray-headed 

throng ; 
But each one felt that duty had called to him 

once more, 
To pay a lovin' tribute to comrades gone before. 

How well do I remember when the war was 

first begun, 
And how we flew from Beauregard at the battle 

of Bull Run ! 
It showed us that rebellion must be crushed at 

any cost. 
Or else our glorious Union forever would be lost. 

'Twas then our noble President called for more 

volunteers. 
Yes, called out to the nation, and when the 

nation hears, 
You ought to heard us singin' before the week was o'er, 
"We're comin' Father Abraham, three hundred 

thousand more." 

You remember, don't you, Mandy, 'bout them sad 

and lonely days ; 
How you told me in your letters, that you prayed 

for me always — 

[Page eighty-two] 



Prayed the Lord would keep me from all danger 

and all harm, 
And would grant the sure protection of His mighty, 

lovin' arm? 

You remember Nelly, also, how she loved poor 

Johnny Brown? 
I think they were the happiest pair in all the 

country 'round. 
Poor John, you know, was wounded, and just before 

he died. 
He murmured, "Darling, Nelly ; I'll wait on 

the other side." 

Today, out at the cemetery, I saw Nell strewin' 

flowers 
And tears upon her hero's grave ; and 'tis said that 

many hours 
Are spent by her there waitin' to cross to 

yonder shore. 
Where Johnny waits to join her when her troubles 

here are o'er. 

She needn't wait much longer, for her hair is white 

as snow ; 
Soon the signal will be sounded, tellin' her 'tis time 

to go; 
And I couldn't keep from thinkin', as I looked at her 

today. 
That none of us old veterans has much more time 

to stay. rr, ... . , 

•' VPcige eighty-three] 



Yes, the time is fast approachin', when the last of 

us must go ; 
And even now we're listenin' to hear the last tattoo. 
We're pretty near thro' marchin', and it won't 

be long before 
We'll be comin' Father Abraham, to join with you 

once more. 



THE AUTO GIRL. 

While passing along a crowded street 
Of the busy town, I chanced to meet 
A fair young girl in an auto-car, 
Who passed me by like a shooting-star. 
I turned to look as she flew apace, 
And thought how tame was the chariot race. 
Had Wallace dreamed of the auto's whir 
He ne'er had written about Ben Hur ! 

Like a beam of light, 

Flashed from afar 
At the dead of night. 

Shot the auto-car. 
With careering swirl 

Or forward bound, 
The machine and girl 

Flew o'er the ground. 



[Page eighty-{our] 



The small white hand of the fair young girl, 
With a gentle touch made the monster whirl, 
And turning away in her headlong flight. 
Like a meteor she flashed from sight. 
And when I thought of the wonderful age 
In which we live, — of histories page 
Recording our deeds for future days. 
The reading of which will cause amaze. 

Arabian Nights, 

How commonplace 
When, in fancy's flights, 

We follow the race. 
At the present day, 

Twixt time and space 
As they speed away 

At head-long pace. 



[Page eighty-five} 



DEAN BOND. 

(The following lines were written in memory of a brave young brakeman, 
who was killed November 24, 1905, in a wreck on the Susquehanna 
and New York railroad, near Towanda, Pa.) 

Up among the Alleghenies, 

Far from din of city strife, 
Dwelt a youth of noble bearing, 

Genial, jovial, full of life, 
Much beloved by all who knew him, 

Ever held in high esteem, 
Life, so full of joyous sunshine, 

Was to him a pleasant dream. 

He had seen but eighteen summers. 

Yet a manly youth wthal, 
Frank and kind in deed and manner. 

Large and handsome, straight and tall. 
But of all these winsome graces. 

He appeared to take no heed. 
Never showing vain ambition 

By an act, or word, or deed. 

Daily past his mother's cottage. 

With a rumble and a roar, 
Trains went rushing o'er the railroad, 

Opposite the cottage door ; 
On the road young Dean was working, 

And he passed his home each day. 
Always waving loving signals 

Every time he came that way. 

[Page eighty-six] 



Tuesday, in the bleak November, 

When the days grow cold and drear, 
He had visited his mother, 

At the home he loved so dear ; 
There he spent the happy moments, 

Till from her he had to part, 
Then v^ithin his arms he clasped her, 

Kissed her. pressed her to his heart. 

"Dean," she said, "be very careful, 

For with danger you're beset ; 
Please be cautions every moment. 

Good-bye, son! Now, don't forget!" 
"In the Lord I'd trust, dear mother, 

And I'll not forget to pray." 
Thus he answered on departing 

From his home and friends that day. 

Then on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, 

Came the signal as before. 
To the loved ones standing, waiting, 

Watching by the cottage door ; 
But alas ! that son and brother 

Here on earth no more will wave. 
For beneath the sod he's sleeping. 

In the cold and silent grave. 



[Page eighty-seven] 



From that form all crushed and mangled, 

In a wreck that Friday night, 
His grand spirit fled forever. 

And to heaven it took its flight. 
Ah, dear mother ! cease thy weeping, 

Lift thine eyes and thou may see, 
From his place up there in heaven 

He is beckoning still to thee. 



I Page eighty-eight] 



TOM AND JERRY. 

Two very jolly revellers were filled with sad regret, 
By reflecting on the fearful pace they foolishly 

had set ; 
Quoth one unto the other, "it's a melancholy shame. 
That we should squander money so and injure 

health and name." 
So each upon his birthday, his habits must forswear. 
And bid adieu to Bacchus and shun his tempting lair, 
And also old companions too with whom we long 

have met, 
Then when we're safely weaned from them we 
never will regret 

That on the fatal brink, 
At last we stopped to think, 
And reckon up the fearful cost 
In honor, health and chink. 
And other things beside. 
Our wealth and health and pride — 
Things that cannot long abide 
With those who yield to drink. 

One of them is quite versatile — a Genius and 

a Sage ; 
Has learned a lot of Rhetoric and acted on 

the stage ; 



[Page eighty-ninel 



He also is a legal light of very high degree, 
And some day will be branded with a double 

L and D. 
Conveyances and champagne corks he with equal 

skill can draw, 
And has handled many a case of beer as well as 

those of law. 
In matters histrionic, he is rated as a star. 
But shows poor discrimination in his practice 
at the Bar. 

But on the fatal brink. 

At last he stops to think, 

And reckon up the fearful cost 

In honor, health and chink. 

And other things beside, 

His health, and wealth and pride — 

Things that cannot long abide 

With those who yield to drink. 

The other one is college bred, and knows an 

awful lot; 
An expert in Anatomy : speaks Russ and Hottentot 
A famous Veterinarian of intelligence and skill, 
Who never fails to make a cure, in case he does 

not kill ; 



[Page ninety] 



As inspector of the markets, he keeps them clean 
and neat — 

Prevents the nasty parasites from contaminating 
meat — 

Compels the bloody butcher to slaughter healthy kine 

And keeps the deadly trichina from poisoning the 
swine. 

There on the fatal brink, 

He also stopped to think. 

And reckon up the fearful cost 

In honor, health and chink, 

And other things besides. 

His health, and wealth and pride — 

Things that cannot long abide 

With those who yield to drink. 

But after months of abstinence, (for which the 

Lord be praised) 
They held another seance that lasted several days. 
And during the performance, they both got good 

and mellow. 
One thot he was a Vanderbilt, the other, 

Rockefeller. 
They started out to forming trusts, monopolies, 

combines. 
To corner all the fancy drinks, like cocktails, 

ale and wines. 



[Page ninety-one] 



And in this brilliant scheme of theirs, included 
breweries too, 

Combining with the other drinks, the beer of 
every brew. 

This time they failed to think, 
And tumbled o'er the brink, 
And as they grovelled in the slums 
Stirred up a fearful stink, 
A nauseating smell. 
Surcharged with fumes of hell — 
As everyone with truth can tell. 
Who yields too much to drink. 

And when they looked for dividends, they found to 

their dismay, 
That while they stood and held the sack, the game 

had slipped away, 
And then the Actor acted sad, most penitent and meek. 
Remorse was getting in its work as he raised his 

head to speak — 
"I'll write," said he, "an expose of our convivial 

class. 
And the title of the work shall be, 'The Braying 

of an Ass', 
In it our own experience and other facts I'll blend. 
And I'll dedicate the book to you, my assininic friend." 



[Page ninety-two] 



"I'll make the final plea, 
To save both you and me, 
And I believe, without a doubt, 
You readily can see, 
Whene'er we take a look 
Into this famous book. 
Each one of us will cry 'Gazook', 
'What fools we mortals be'." 



[Page ninety-three] 



THE AUTO SCORCHER. 

On rushed the auto, swiftly, swiftly; swiftly as the 

wind, 
Leaving consternation in its pathway far behind, 
Until on crossing Town street, as it swept along 

down High, 
Something startling happened, in the twinkling of 

an eye. 

For when it reached the corner, it seems 

Patrolman Murray 
Decided that the chauffeur, was in too great 

a hurry; 
His clarion voice rang sharply out on the 

startled air — 
"Hold, there! for you are scorching, and I warn 

you, sir. beware!" 

And Murray kept on calling, calling; calling long 

and loud, 
But the chauffeur failed to hear him. or else he 

was too proud 
To acknowledge Murray, or any other copper, 
For he let the auto scoot ahead, and didn't try 

to stop 'er. 

[Page ninety-four] 



And then a mace was hurtled, and went whizzing 

through the air, 
But when it reached the ground again, the chauffeur 

wasn't there, 
Nor has he since been heard from, and it is safe to bet, 
Unless he stopped the auto, that he is scorching yet. 

Then Murray stood there gazing, gazing ; gazing 

straight ahead, 
'Twas only for a moment, then looking up he said : 
"The scorchers soon will catch it, yes they'll get it 

in the neck, 
A bounty will be offered, for every one we wreck." 

Hur-rah ! Hur-rah ! Max Murray ; here's a double 

health to thee ! 
You aid the old and feeble, you help the blind to see, 
They look for your protection, and we'd glory 

in your spunk. 
If you'd seize all scorching autos, and break them 

up for junk. 



[Page ninety-five] 



TURNIN' PICTURES TO THE WALL. 

I hardly was expectin' to come back home so cjuick, 
But I'll jest tell you, Mandy, it almost makes me sick 
To think I went down to the club to met the boys 

once more, 
And didn't find things just the same as I always 

had before; 
They didn't grasp and shake my hand as they had 

always done, 
But, with a cold and distant nod, they passed me 

one by one, 
And when I sat down all alone and looked around 

the hall, 
I saw they had been turnin' some pictures to the wall. 

Some are portraits of our leaders whom we've 

honored many years, 
And when I saw what had been done, I gazed at 

them through tears ; 
I thought of many battles, the brunt of which 

they've borne — 
Of "Man's inhumanity to man that makes countless 

millions mourn," 
And when I thought of their offense of votin' as 

they chose, 
Thereby offendin' the "machine," I quietly arose, 

[Page ninety-six] 



And, as I softly left the hall the light broke by 

degrees, 
And I could see I, too, had sinned by votin' as 

I pleased. 

My portrait isn't hangin' there among those in that 

hall — 
My influence isn't very great — jest one vote, 

that is all. 
But I always thought, dear Mandy, that my little 

vote was worth 
Jest about the same amount as any man's on earth. 
I also thought I had a right to cast it as I please, 
Without consent of any man or any club's decrees. 
But I suppose the members think I haven't got 

that right, 
Because they acted pesky mean there at the club 

tonight. 

While I was marchin' with Tecumseh from Atlanta 

to the sea. 
The club's president was campin' upon his mother's 

knee. 
He was a little shaver then — a wee, small tiny thing. 
And just began to cut his teeth on a little ivory ring. 
While nearly all the members are younger still than he, 
With only jest a few old scouts like Brother Jones 

and me, 

[Page ninety-seven] 



But what they know 'bout pohtics is plenty it appears, 
For they want to give us pointers after votin' all 
these years. 

I voted for Abe Lincoln and always thought 'twas 

right, 
But I guess I made a great mistake, from what I've 

seen tonight. 
For he appointed Stanton and Sheridan and Grant, 
And made the politicians of his party cuss and rant ; 
It set them all to ravin', and you could hear them tell 
About that "old fool Lincoln" lettin' the country go 

to — well, 
"With malice toward none, but with charity for all," 
He never got the habit of turnin' pictures to the wall. 

Each leadin' party of today is too much of a trust 
For monopolizin' politics, but when they try to thrust 
Bad men and measures on us, I think that they 

will find 
When they come to count our votes, we're for a 

different kind. 
Yes, we believe in equal rights and also righteous laws. 
And the kind of government that helps the people's 

cause, 
One, "of the people, by the people and for the 

people all," 
And not merely for those little chaps that turn 

pictures to the wall. 

[Page ninety-eight"] 



'TAINT TAINTED ANY LONGER. 

I've jest been readin', Mandy, about an awful row, 
That accordin' to the paper, is goin' on just now ; 
It's all about some money that a rich man wants 

to give. 
To educate the heathen, and teach them how to live. 

I cannot quite discover just where the trouble lies. 
But 'pears to me some people, are much more nice 

than wise, 
They say the money's tainted, and 'twont look 

very well, 
To spend it on the heathen, to save his soul 

from hell. 

Regardin' tainted money — it's a point that's 

dreadful fine, 
And must bother them like sixty, to fix the 

dividin' line ; 
The field is broad and lengthy, and I think it will 

be found, 
'Twill keep them movin' lively to cover all 

the ground. 

They may get awful tired, before the job is done, 
And then they'll be so sorry, it ever was begun ; 
And then again the engineer in establishin' the grade 
May find the money tainted, with which his salary's 
paid. 

[Page ninety-nine] 



I'm growin' old and feeble and perhaps don't 

understand, 
The proper way of savin' that dark benighted land, 
But seems to me these people — I may be wrong 

'tis true — 
Are hinderin' most mightily the work they're hired 

to do. 

Of course I don't pretend to say that I'm 

exactly right, 
But still I cannot see it in any other light ; 
And from my way of thinkin', it's a very wicked plan 
To let the heathen suffer, to spite some other man. 

There 'pears to be some people who always hate 

the rich, 
I think they are called terrorists and anarchists 

and sich ; 
At every one who prospers, and is better off than they, 
They holler "Thief!" and "'Robber!" and the dickens 

is to pay. 

But still they're always tryin' their very level best. 
To get a lot of money, the same as all the rest ; 
And when they have succeeded in rakin' in the spoil, 
'Taint tainted any longer, but came from honest toil. 



[Page one-hundred] 



And then they have no mercy for any luckless one, 
But say "Go earn your money, the same as I have 

done," 
And now instead hol'rin' 'bout plutocrat and trust. 
You'll find them busy trampin' poor people in the dust. 

As long as 'tis the fashion for nearly every man. 
To try and fill his pockets, and take all he safely can, 
I think it is quite lucky, and a noble thing beside, 
If some one who succeeded, is willin' to divide. 



[Page one-hundred one] 



SKIPPERS — A ROMANCE. 

John J. Josiah Johnston, a poet, grand and great, 
Starts rhyming in the morning and keeps it up 

till late. 
He rhymes while he is sleeping — he's rhyming all 

the time. 
And even if he makes a speech, that also is in rhyme. 

Miss Jen Jerusha Jackson, one day came up to town. 
She also is a poet of very great renown ; 
Josiah fell in love with her, fell like a chunk of lead, 
And then he wrote a letter and this is what he said : 

"Miss Jen Jerusha Jackson : 

My darling ducky dear : 
I take my pen this morning down from behind my ear, 
To write this lovin' missive to the woman I adore, 
And ask you, dear Jerusha, to be mine forevermore. 
Then we'll set sail together, upon life's troubled sea ; 
I'll be your loving husband if you will marry me ; 
And when our ship begins to sail before the 

gentle breeze. 
We'll skip away together, just like two lovin' fleas, 

"Josiah." 



[Page one-bundred two] 



Her Answer. 

"Dear John J. Josiah Johnston : 

I take my pen in hand 
To tell you 'tis so sudden I scarce can understand. 
Your very clever letter shows there's something 

in your noodle ; 
It also shows your heart's as big or bigger than 

my poodle ; 
And when you speak of sailin', that suits me 

mighty well, 
For I just love the water, far more than I can tell. 
Your offer, Si, is lovely — I cannot let it slip ; 
So we'll skip out together, joint skippers of the ship. 

"JErusha." 



[Page one hundred three] 



OEC 28 1912 




^^ 






